


An Evening To Forget

by athersgeo



Category: Airwolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/pseuds/athersgeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unwelcome visitor brings dinner and raises uncomfortable questions in Hawke's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening To Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jena Bartley

 

 

Preternatural hearing could be a curse sometimes, Hawke decided. Other times, it was a goddamn blessing. He just wasn't sure which category the situation currently fit. On the one hand, he was nearly a mile from the cabin which meant he and the chopper would probably arrive at the same time, leaving him no option of greeting the visitor with a metaphorical (well, probably metaphorical) shot gun round. On the other hand, at least he'd got the warning and he could use the rest of his journey back to the cabin as a chance to figure out the fastest way of getting rid of the visitor.

There was, of course, the option of simply not bothering to return to the cabin. He could hide up here, in the forest above the cabin and wait until he heard the chopper leave again, but there was an obvious problem with doing that. If the visitor was Michael, he'd probably send the National Guard out on a man hunt and if the visitor was Dominic, he'd get on to Michael who'd probably send the National Guard out on a man hunt. Either way, Hawke knew he wouldn't be left alone. Better to just get it over with.

Hawke picked up his pace and continued to descend down through the trees. A few yards more and he'd be able to see the chopper eggbeatering up the lake. That would at least tell him the level of "polite" he needed to fake. White and he needn't be more than passingly civil - and possibly not even that, depending on what Michael wanted. If, on the other hand, the chopper was the red-white-blue Santini Air Jet Ranger then he might have to fake a few more pleasantries. After all, Dominic was family and was probably just acting out of a misplaced sense of guilt.

The trees cleared and Hawke had a clear view down over the lake. There was the chopper, pristine in its Stars and Stripes livery. Dominic, then.

Hawke cursed and picked his pace up even further. Out of his two choices, Dominic was the one he wanted to see least. Michael would probably be bringing some world ending crisis, but Dominic was going to want to talk and that was the one thing above all that Hawke didn't want to do. Not today. 

He'd arranged everything so that he could spend today away from everyone precisely because he didn't want to talk. Dominic had to know that. He had to know what the day was and why he wouldn't want to talk. And yet...

Hawke finally reached the bottom of the path and rounded the corner of the cabin in time to see the chopper flare for landing. At this distance, it was impossible to tell who the pilot was, but surely only Dominic would be bothering. Except that...

Hawk frowned heavily. The chopper was settling down on the dock, angled so that the pilot could safely climb out onto the wooden jetty and from what he could see, the pilot was far too small to be Dominic. 

He took a few steps closer, staying out of the rotor wash but close enough to confirm his first thought. The person sitting at the controls of the Jet Ranger wasn't Dominic, but Dominic had to know about it for her to be coming up here in the Santini Air chopper.

Hawke ground his teeth. Was this Dominic's idea of a joke? He folded his arms across his chest and waited while the pilot shut down the chopper, hung up her headset, picked something up from the empty left seat and climbed out of the chopper.

"Howdy!" she called.

"Caitlin," Hawke answered, his tone grim. "What are you doing here?"

If she noticed his tone, she ignored it. "Well, I promised you a good home cooked dinner," and she waved a hand at the plastic bag she was holding, "and that's what I'm gonna do."

"What?"

"Dinner," said Caitlin patiently, her cheery smile lighting her face. "You know, that meal most folks eat at around about this time of day."

And before Hawke could stop her, she had breezed right by him and up to the cabin. He had to turn and jog to catch up and even then, she still entered the cabin before he could stop her.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Because I promised you dinner and since you don't ever come into town in the evening, I figured I'd have to come out here to do it," Caitlin answered, making a direct beeline for the kitchen.

"Oh."

There really didn't seem to be a lot Hawke could say in response to that statement that wouldn't sound churlish - and while he usually had no problem with that, something about Caitlin's perpetual enthusiasm and bright-eyed wonder always made him feel like a complete heel when he did that to her.

Caitlin riffled through his kitchen cupboards for a moment. "I suppose you do have a pan here?"

"Second cupboard along," Hawke answered. "Why today?"

"Thanks." Caitlin pulled out a pan, filled it with water and set it to boil. "Why what today?"

"Why did you pick today? Seem to remember you offered me dinner a coupla months back."

"Today seemed like a good day. Hey, do you have any garlic? I musta forgotten to pack it."

"Here." Hawke tossed the garlic bulb to Caitlin who caught it and started stripping out a clove. "Dominic put you up to this."

She paused, knife poised ready to chop. "He's worried about you."

Not an admission. Not a denial, either. "Yeah, well."

"He was gonna call Michael," she continued, starting to chop the garlic. "He was actually looking for a world-ending crisis."

"You stopped him."

"Way I figure it, from what Dom's told me, today's a difficult enough day without Michael stopping by." Another pan was produced and the garlic was tossed into it. She started chopping an onion. "Only way to get Dominic to lay off was if one of us came up here."

"You drew the short straw, huh?"

"Well, I figured you probably wouldn't slug me," said Caitlin, a small smile gracing her face as she looked up from the onion. "And I figured if I came and offered you food, you might even let me off."

"Might," said Hawke.

"Or I can leave, right after I'm done cooking. Leave you to dinner."

"And the dishes."

Caitlin offered a cheeky grin at that. "Might." She added the onion to the garlic and a splash of olive oil. "Guess we'll see by how many you set the table for."

Hawke judged that to be a hint and went to do just that. He hesitated for a moment, hand over the cutlery. She'd given him an 'out'. He could just get out what he needed and she'd go once she'd finished cooking. No questions asked. He rolled his eyes and grabbed two of everything. Letting her go without eating was another churlish idea.

He laid out the cutlery and plates then, on a whim, set out two wineglasses.

"Red or white?" he asked.

"You're the expert," Caitlin replied, not looking round. "What goes with pasta?"

Hawke shrugged. "Either." He headed across to the wine store. "White."

"Sounds fine to me."

Hawke grunted and selected a bottle of Chardonnay from the rack. As he set about opening it, he was aware of Caitlin draining something and guessed that meant the pasta was ready. He wondered absently what it was she was making. It smelt pretty good, he had to admit.

"Come and get it," she called and he heard the gentle thud of her setting the serving dish down on the table.

The bottle uncorked, Hawke duly did as he was told and joined Caitlin at the table where a large dish of spinach Alfredo was waiting, steaming.

"Looks good," he allowed, pouring out two glasses of wine.

"Why, thank you." Caitlin offered that cheeky grin again. "Dig in before it gets cold."

"Yes ma'am."

The meal passed mostly in silence, which surprised Hawke a little. Caitlin was normally the talkative type, which meant one of two things. Either she'd intuited that he didn't really want conversation, or she was working up to ask him something.

He hoped it was the former.

He suspected it was the latter.

Sure enough, as the last of the wine was drunk and the last of the Alfredo eaten, Caitlin cleared her throat. "So, you want to talk about it?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. "No."

"Want me to leave now?"

And to Hawke's general surprise, he found himself answering, "No." He blinked. Where'd that come from?

Caitlin merely smirked and started to clear the dirty dishes from the table.

Hawke watched for a few moments then silently picked up the towel and started to dry as Caitlin washed. It felt oddly comfortable. Neither of them said anything as they worked, although Caitlin did start to hum some catchy tune she'd probably heard on the radio earlier. It was...

...nice.

That was one word Hawke hadn't expected to need today. Today was supposed to be all about bad memories and missing pieces but somewhere between spotting the Santini Air chopper making its way up the lake and here, those bad memories had faded and the missing pieces didn't seem so lost.

That made no sense.

"What?" 

Hawke started. Caitlin was eyeing him with concern and he realised, somewhat sheepishly, that he'd zoned out. The dishes were all done and dried and just needed putting away.

"Sorry."

"Figure you want to put stuff away," was all she said. "I do it, you'll be looking for stuff for months."

"Uh, yeah." Hawke shook his head again and started to stash the clean dishes in their respective homes.

"So, you think Michael will show up tomorrow?"

"No idea." Hawke hitched a shoulder in a shrug. "He sets his own schedule."

"I've never figured out how you got mixed up in the Firm."

"Long story."

"Don't wanna talk about it?"

"No, just boring." Hawke snorted. "I was a test pilot. They were hiring."

"That must be the cliff notes version."

"Maybe."

"Boy," said Caitlin with sarcasm. "Conversations with you are just so enlightening."

Hawke straightened and turned to face her. "I guess." He smiled faintly. "Or you could stop trying to get me to talk. Already said I don't want to talk about it."

"Then why'd you want me to stay?"

Hawke opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again as he realised he didn't exactly have an answer to that question. Then realised he did know the answer after all. "Guess I don't want to be alone." 

"Then talk to me," said Caitlin, her voice gentle.

"It's hard."

"You've gotta let someone in sometime, String."

"Why?"

"Because, sooner or later, you'll realise you need someone."

"And sooner or later, they'll leave," Hawke replied.

"It's not a given."

"It is for me." Suddenly angry, Hawke turned and stalked across to the cabin door and flung it open. "Maybe you should go."

Caitlin sighed. "You're right. I should." She slowly walked to the door. "I'm sorry." She paused on the veranda. "Will you be in town tomorrow?"

"Dom's got a stunt booked. I'll be there."

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

And before Hawke could say anything else, Caitlin had trotted down to the jetty and had started climbing in to the chopper.

For a moment, anger spent, Hawke toyed with the idea of calling her back. Then, as the rotors started to turn, he dismissed the idea. What good would it do? He'd probably just end up yelling at her again. No. Better she go home now before he said something he'd regret. 

The chopper took off and started the trek back to town. Too late for a change of heart.

So why did he now feel as if he'd made a monumental mistake?

 


End file.
